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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385665">Is This Love?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/missameliep/pseuds/missameliep'>missameliep</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Is This Love? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Desire &amp; Decorum (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:47:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/missameliep/pseuds/missameliep</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>* Some subjects portrayed might be sensitive to readers - TW: SLUT-SHAMING; TW: MATURE LANGUAGE;<br/>* The events in this series take place prior to the story of my series The Pursuit of Happiness;<br/>* Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC;<br/>* English is not my first language.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ernest Sinclaire/Main Character (Desire &amp; Decorum), Vincent Foredale/Mary (Desire and Decorum)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Is This Love? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>* Some subjects portrayed might be sensitive to readers - TW: SLUT-SHAMING; TW: MATURE LANGUAGE;<br/>* The events in this series take place prior to the story of my series The Pursuit of Happiness;<br/>* Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC;<br/>* English is not my first language.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mary struggles to keep her lie about Elizabeth’s father while raising her daughter by herself at Grovershire, targeted by society’s prejudice.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* The events in this series take place prior to my series The Pursuit of Happiness and revisits some of the events from the first chapters of Desire and Decorum - Book 1;<br/>* The series was inspired by a request from my friend @princess-geek.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Grovershire – September, 1805</b>
</p><p>In a men’s world, a woman controlling her own life and destiny is a terrifying concept and a potential menace. Especially if such a woman lives in a small village as Grovershire.</p><p>Mary Thompson has been well-aware of that fact for many years now, accumulating experiences on how cruel and unjust it can be to women like herself.</p><p>Challenging society’s standards, even if not by choice at first, brought too much pain to her heart over the years. And still do. There isn’t a single accusation unfamiliar to her ears after nine years raising her daughter on her own.</p><p>A liar.</p><p>A sinner.</p><p>A whore.</p><p>Instead of breaking her, however, she drew strength from every insult and injustice, and what was supposed to be the biggest burden, the symbol of her sin, turned out to be her greatest blessing and treasure.</p><p>A cross she bears with pride.</p><p>Not the direst circumstances could change that fact in her heart.</p><p> </p><p>Hair tousled by the wind and carrying a heavy basket, the sound of laughter echoing from the fields bordering the dirt path reaches her ears and interrupts her walk. Children run free, trampling the long grass and yellow asters, during a loud game of tag. Her nine-year-old daughter, Elizabeth is amongst them.</p><p>Putting the basket down, the woman protects her eyes from the sun with one hand and observes the kids playing for a while.</p><p>Despite being shorter than most of her peers and thinner too, Elizabeth runs faster than most. Outrunning the pursuer with the same determination and smartness that she applies on anything else.</p><p>Mary rejoices at the sight.</p><p>Elizabeth’s long brown braids whipping from side to side with every step, until she reached Briar Daly and the girls hugged, celebrating what she assumed was a victory. The brunette points at the road and she finally acknowledges her mother’s presence. She waved with a large smile and Mary waved back. Bidding farewell to her friends, the girl crosses the distance separating them in mere seconds.</p><p>With a smile, Mary wipes the sweat from her forehead and cheeks, rounded with a persistent smile. The constant exposure to the sun during summertime peppered the girl’s pale skin with light brown freckles on the nose and shoulders and a rosy hue on the cheeks, that was accentuated by all the running this afternoon.</p><p>Walking side by side, Elizabeth’s small hand curled around the handle of the basket, brushing her mother’s.</p><p>Mary thanked her, and the gesture warmed her heart.</p><p>More often than not, she was told how unfortunate to have given birth to a girl – and one so fragile – instead of a boy.</p><p>A boy would help her and do the heavy tasks around the house, they said. “Who shall carry the wood when you grow older?” they asked. In the future, a boy could make an earning that suffices to maintain the household and provide for his mother, they explained, pointing out her misfortune. “A girl like that, what could she do?” they’ve asked again and again, as if concerned about Mary’s fate.</p><p>At first, Mary tried to argue with them. The assumptions about her daughter were entirely wrong. Elizabeth was both kind and strong. Much stronger than most assumed judging her by her good-looks and delicate features. The girl is a survivor. A bad case of croup didn’t take her from her mother years ago, nor she fell ill with any other disease who causes children to sleep eternally.</p><p>As the time went by, those questions were simply replied with a smirk, “I would not trade my girl for a dozen boys…”</p><p>Though, from time to time, Mary wishes the winters would be kinder to her little girl and herself, but mostly that the world had not come between Vincent and her, and their family would be complete.  </p><p>Quickly, she chases those thoughts away.</p><p>There is no use in dwelling on things one cannot change.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Mary studied the torn right above the hem of Elizabeth’s brown dress for a moment and started mending it, humming an aria from her favourite opera. Meanwhile, the girl sat on the floor, fidgeting with pieces of fabric. By the way she bit her cheek and the look on her face, she presumes some persistent thought does not let her rest. Possibly, she wishes to ask again for a doll on her birthday, like the ones from the shop at the village, the mother supposes.</p><p>“Mama, where is father?”</p><p>Surprise by the question, Mary pricked her finger with the needle, and hissed. Instinctively, she raised the finger to her mouth, a metallic taste on her tongue. The hypothesis that her daughter might’ve found out the truth was frightening. But how could she?</p><p>Taking a deep breath and trying to keep her voice steady, Mary inquired her back, “What do you mean by that, my darling?”</p><p>“Is father in heaven?”</p><p>“In heaven?” the woman echoed and paused, a faint smile curling her lips. Vincent is not dead, as far as her knowledge goes, he is very much alive and well; and for heaven, does she still believe in it?</p><p>Considering her options, she settled for a statement that held some truth in it.</p><p>“Your father was a good man and is in a good place… Do not worry.”</p><p>Her daughter seemed content with that answer, though she sensed more questions on her eyes.</p><p>“In which battle did he die, mama?”</p><p>Closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling deeply, she pondered how many times has she answered questions like that in the past nine years or so…</p><p>Countless times. Over and over her tongue repeated the same lie: her husband, Vincent Thompson, was a soldier who died honourably at the service of the King.</p><p>A more palatable story than the truth: that Mary has no longer a husband ever since his family took him away from her. But who would believe that?</p><p>A mind that was not hers conceived the story with good intentions. She still remembers that afternoon.</p><p>
  <em>With her newborn baby crying in her arms and despair clouding her eyes, Mary heard Pavarti Daly’s suggestion.<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Townspeople shall be kinder and accept your presence with no trouble, if they think you are a widow,” the woman said. “A husband killed in combat is the perfect explanation. How many wars there is? How many men have succumbed? More than anyone will ever know…”<br/>
</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With her consent, her friend spread the word. Most believed them and never questioned the fact, but others never did, and she could recognize the judging eyes everywhere she went.</em>
</p><p><em>Avoid details. Keep it simple, </em>she reminds herself staring at the pierced finger.</p><p>“He was shipped to fight at the continent, and that is my entire knowledge on the matter.”</p><p>With that, she resumed mending and hoped there would be no more questioning.</p><p>“Did he know you were expecting me before he left?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You did not tell him?”</p><p>“I did not know either.”</p><p>“How come no one heard of father?”</p><p>Mary’s eyes raised from her work and met the girls’, noticing the crease between her eyebrows, before she lowered her gaze, fixing it on her hands.</p><p>At the age of four, Elizabeth asked about her father for the first time and not the last. Mary never refused to answer any of those questions, remaining faithful to the tale created. Therefore, the girl’s uneasiness with the subject this evening seemed odd.</p><p>“Eliza,” the woman called her, and the girl’s little fingers stopped fidgeting with the hem of her apron, but she didn’t meet her mother’s gaze. “What is troubling you?”</p><p>“Nothing, mama…”</p><p>The answer was vague and untrue.</p><p>“Is someone asking questions about your father?”</p><p>“I –” Elizabeth started, struggling with words.</p><p>Meeting her mother’s encouraging expression, she continued with a strangled voice, “Yesterday at the village… I overheard some men saying father was never at war… uh… that no one ever heard about a Vincent Thompson from Nortonbury… That you lie. That this story is the same as many others told by women who… that have –” she stopped and dared not repeat the word she’s heard, and she did not have to, because Mary knew exactly which word was trapped on her throat.</p><p>The blood boiled on her veins at the sight of unshed tears on her daughter’s eyes. Mary put the needle and the dress back on the basket and stretched her arms. Without hesitation, Elizabeth swiftly got up and threw herself at her. Her arms went around the girl, and Mary wished she could protect her from this world.</p><p>Stroking her hair, she said softly, “Don’t mind what they say. There shall always be people judging me. It happened before. It shall happen again.”</p><p>Elizabeth released a quiet sob against her neck. “It is unfair!”</p><p>“Do not expect fairness from the world, my child. You shall not find it.”</p><p>Cupping her cheeks, Mary wiped the tears with her thumbs, and requested Elizabeth to pay attention to her next words.  </p><p>“I beg of you: do not give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Ever. Not these men and not any other who tries to hurt you with their cruelty. Do you understand? Do not let them think they broke you with their words and accusations. Stay strong. Reserve your crying for the ones who shall embrace and protect you, my dear. I trust life shall present you with immeasurable love and happiness, however you must remain strong.”</p><p>The girl heard the instructions with undivided attention and nodded when her mother questioned if she understood what she meant.</p><p>Mary can only hope she’d remember the advices and keep them at heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The sands of time do not stop trickling down, and Elizabeth is no longer a child. Mary reminds herself that being born poor and beautiful might be either a blessing or a curse, when she realises that love and lust will soon be a permanent part of her daughter’s life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The third from this chapter scene takes place at Chapter 3;<br/>* Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC;<br/>* English is not my first language.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Grovershire – May, 1808</b>
  <b></b>
</p><p>This year’s harvest festival must be the greatest festivity since Mary moved to Grovershire. Even though the fields have not been blessed by favourable weather or an exceptional crop like previous years, the community got together these past months, supporting one another, and bravely enduring the intense frost and the arid weeks that followed. Once the worst is behind them, the townspeople found more than enough reasons to celebrate.</p><p>The sun was setting, and the square was brimming with people. A dancing crowd before the lively band with their graceful – and not so graceful – matching steps. Laughter and music filling the air, joining the inviting smell of baked goods and food displayed at numerous carts.</p><p>This evening, Mary helped her long-time friend Pavarti Daly with her cart filled with delicious pies, just like she did on previous years. While she served another piece of her friend’s famous walnut pie, she caught a glimpse of her twelve-year-old daughter standing beside the square fountain and smiled.</p><p>The green and beige summer dress, which was tailored using leftover fabrics from Mary’s creations for the townswomen, contrasted with the girl’s pale skin peppered with light freckles and hung a little loose over her lean childlike frame. Luckily, Mary ponders, it will fit her for the next two summers at least, if she doesn’t get tall as her father all of a sudden. </p><p>With every passing day, Elizabeth resembles less and less the image of the child from her mother’s memories. Soon, every trace of the infancy shall be gone, and the haunting likeness she shares with her father will grow even more evident. Ever since she was a baby, she already took too much after him, either on her looks, with the same dark brown hair, and on many other aspects. For instance, Mary enjoys reading and her attention can be captivated by a good story. Once upon a time her entire craft relied on her ability to become someone else entirely and bring stories to life. Nonetheless, Elizabeth’s fascination for books since she was a little girl is unlike hers. Her green eyes shone with the mere sight of an unread book, just like her father’s once did.</p><p>“Our little Lizzy is growing into a handsome young lass, my friend,” Mrs. Daly beamed, nudging her friend’s side. “Soon all the lads in the village shall be smitten and singing her praises outside your windows…”</p><p>Before Mary could say anything, her friend grabbed her arm and pointed. Their attention shifted to a group of teenage boys, standing a few metres away from her daughter. Mary recognized some of them as the sons of Grovershire’s richest families. Two of Mrs. Dunne’s boys were in the group, Francis, with his lavish caramel curls, and Sean, the youngest with his distinctive fiery red hair. The older boys stared at her daughter, wolfish smiles curling their mouths while her half-braided hair and skirts swayed while she mimicked the steps of the dancers.</p><p>“Oh! It seems she’s already caught their eyes!” Mrs. Daly corrected herself and did not try to stifle a chortle while they watched the scene like an act of a play.</p><p>Briar, who had returned to Elizabeth’s side, whispered into her ear and the two laughed, before walking with arms linked past the group of boys towards the fields, where the harvest games were held. Faces turned and eyes accompanied the pair of giggling girls distancing, then many pairs of feet marched towards the same direction.</p><p>Mary sighed, still looking at the place her daughter once was, contemplating the end of the act.</p><p>The fact that Elizabeth and her undeniable good-looks would eventually catch the eyes of the opposite sex was anticipated, and for years her mother has prepared herself and her daughter for that moment. Although, high-class young men taking an interest on the girl at such a young age and what they might feel entitled to considering their perception of her social status, that concerns her terribly.</p><p>A shiver ran down her spine. The most difficult conversations she shall engage with her daughter looming at the horizon.</p><p>Throughout the years, Mary witnessed – and experienced herself in a few occasions – how entitlement works and the way men relying on their wealthy and power hold their claims over poor women’s companies and favours, unapologetically reminding them that what is not given voluntarily, might be taken by force.</p><p><em>“That is the natural order of things, my dear.” </em>Mary can still hear the male, low and ragged voice, uttering those words into her ear. At the occasion, she was only a few years older than her daughter, and unfortunately it wasn’t the last time similar ones were spoken to her.</p><p>At last, as if coming out of a trance, she turned around, facing the other woman.</p><p>“I am afraid both of our girls have, my friend,” she pointed out with an undeniable hint of melancholy, and her attention returned to the cart and to the people standing around. Plastering an insincere smile, she handed a piece of pie to a smiling Mrs. White, who thanked her and turned around to re-join the animated conversation with friends, oblivious to Mary’s concerns.</p><p>Mrs. Daly put the knife and plate down, and inched closer to examine her friend’s contemplative face. Worry creasing the space between her eyebrows and a sudden sadness clouding her eyes.</p><p>“You make it sound like a bad omen and I wonder why.”</p><p>“For a woman, being born beautiful and poor may be either a blessing or a curse,” Mary started, in a tone sufficient loud to not be muffled by the music and heard exclusively by her friend, “and one can never predict which way it shall go.”</p><p>Mary experienced both.</p><p>God willing Elizabeth would be more fortunate.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Grovershire – April, 1811</b>
</p><p>The sun was almost above their heads in that spring morning. The gentlest breeze blowing through the trees while a flock of birds presented their choreographed dance across the cloudless blue sky.</p><p>Up since before dawn, mother and daughter had fed the chickens, brought water from the well, watered the garden, gathered the vegetables and broken the fast, completing part of the tasks for the day. Now, side by side, they tended to the small garden surrounding their cottage.</p><p>Like every other springtime, what had been green only a few weeks ago, now has become colourful and vibrant. The flowers in bloom and their sweet fragrance filled Mary’s lung with pride and were counted amongst the most cherished accomplishments on the process of turning the ancient lifeless cottage into a home filled with happiness and love.</p><p>Focusing her gaze on the neat raised beds of herbs and vegetables, that soon will fill their steaming pots, she looked for signs of weeds and pests. Groaning, the woman plucked the roots of weeds growing next to the rosemarys, while her daughter stared with a quizzical expression.</p><p>“Mama,” Elizabeth called her softly, and Mary’s head tilted to face her. “Would you mind answering a question?”</p><p>“Of course not, my dear. Ask away.”</p><p>“It is… rather personal, I am afraid.”</p><p>Sensing the seriousness of the subject, Mary removed her hands from the dirty, sat on the balls of her bare feet, and indicated for her to continue.</p><p>“Did you and father fall in love right at first sight like the characters from the tales?”</p><p>Surprise rounded the woman’s lips and eyes and she drew in a sharp inhale.</p><p>“…You told me you loved each other very much, and it got me wondering…”</p><p>The corners of her mouth slowly curled up with reminiscences of love confessions uttered so long ago.</p><p>“Only your father,” she replied with a wistful smile. “Or so he used to say…”</p><p>“You didn’t?”</p><p>“Due to many circumstances, it took me a while longer to understand the nature of my feelings… However not that long, I must admit. Clearly Cupid’s arrows had stricken us both down.”</p><p>“Which circumstances?”</p><p>Mary paused and scratched one dirty palm. The actual worries that filled her mind at the time regarding the social abyss separating a young Viscount and an Opera singer or the fear of engaging into the kind of forbidden relationship that could only have a tragic ending like the many Operas she’s performed cannot be addressed.</p><p>“Unimportant and foolish concerns of a young lass, long buried under the sands of time.” A vague response to avoid follow-up questions.</p><p>Elizabeth tilted her head and pondered about the pieces of information received. Throwing some weeds at a basket, she dusted her hands off, cleaning them from dirt and small pieces of the roots.</p><p>“But how did you know?” she asked picking at the dirt beneath her fingernails. “That it was love, I mean.”</p><p>Mary rubbed the back of her hand on her forehead, wiping beads of sweat and removing a strand of blond hair stuck in front of her eye, and looked at her daughter with an amused expression. “Is it my imagination or has Cupid paid you a visit recently, Eliza?”</p><p>“Me? No, mama! I – Absolutely not!” Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened and stumbling on words, she protested some more about the absurdity of her mother’s insinuation.</p><p>Raising her eyebrows at how vehemently her daughter wanted to deny it, she suspected that maybe some young lad has indeed caught her eye. However, if that was the case, it could be wiser to be patient for the moment and allow her strongminded daughter the opportunity to share the news whenever she felt ready.</p><p>Mary stifled a snicker, and apologised for teasing her so, but it was not enough for Elizabeth’s cheeks to return to its regular colour or to erase the vexed expression from her face.</p><p>“Tell me then, if you may, what stirred the sudden interest on the matter?”</p><p>“I was just curious, because I have been reading this book suggested by Mrs. Dunne and –”</p><p>“Ah! I should’ve known,” Mary interrupted with a knowing smirk. Anytime she started a new book, her mouth could not help but communicate the interrogations multiplying inside her mind. “And may I know what this book says that has you wondering about this particular subject?”</p><p>“It is not a specific fact, actually… Perhaps the contradictory notions… Most of the stories I have read this far insist the hero fell in love with the heroine at first sight. A glimpse of a handsome woman across a ballroom and that seals the gentleman’s fate. Which comes as an absurd notion, I think. Beauty being the exclusive aspect on which love is based seems utterly vain, do you not agree?” she inquired looking at her mother, who nodded, aware that love can at times be mistaken by desire and the urges of the flesh by young and inexperienced hearts. “While others – and this book particularly – glorify the use of reason at the moment of choosing the right man to wed, the necessity of taking under consideration the parents’ and the society’s good opinions, scrutinizing the possible suitor’s every possession to see if in the end he is a favourable match. It also seems very odd…”</p><p>Feigning scandal, Mary gasped, “Would my only daughter not want my advice?”</p><p>“I will never venture to even accept a courtship without first hearing your opinion, but…”</p><p>They shared a knowing smile.</p><p>“I have sensed a but…” the mother said, shaking her head slowly. Strong willed as her daughter is, undoubtedly, she would desire to take the reigns of her own life. “Care to explain what feels odd about this second notion? Being sensible before making a life changing decision such as marriage seems reasonable enough.”</p><p>“But should reason led when it comes to the matters of the heart? It also does not strike me as correct,” she paused and casted a glance at the chirping birds on the ground.</p><p>“Affection grows in spite of reason. That is a certainty.”</p><p>“It seems utterly odd that family or society’s opinions should matter the most, since <em>I</em> am the one who would wed and spend a lifetime with such a man…”</p><p>“Fortune, status and society’s opinions about a suitor are important to some…”</p><p>“Not to me,” Elizabeth stated with resolution. “A man who offers empty hands and a kind heart is preferable to one whose pockets are full of gold and the heart devoid of affection.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>The corners of Mary’s lips raised in a smirk. Another similarity bonding Elizabeth and her father. Vincent never failed to deliver a similar speech whenever she felt insecure of her low birth.</p><p>“One does not choose who to love…” Mary admitted, and her daughter’s attention focused on her. “A husband, on the other hand, that is a choice. A major one in my opinion.”</p><p>The teenager’s brows knitted together, while she pondered over those words. “Enough to one being forced to marry someone against their will?” she inquired but did not wait for a reply. “In this book they praise as a perfect son one who obliges to his family’s request and breaks an attachment to the woman he loves… He broke not only the engagement, but his own heart to obey… Is it not incredibly sad?”</p><p>Empathysing with the familiarity in this tale, Mary’s head bobbed in agreement. A lump on her throat kept her from speaking her mind for a long moment. The only conversations in the garden coming from the clucking chickens in the back.</p><p>“Then your heart may rest, since I promise to not meddle or force you into marrying someone you would not choose yourself,” Mary teased meeting Elizabeth’s gaze. “Though I suspect you had no reasons to worry about that…”</p><p>Elizabeth confirmed and they both chuckled, until Mary coughed a few times, face turning red.</p><p>“Mama,” she called softly, worry creasing her forehead, but she received a curt wave in return and when her mother finally managed to speak, she told her not to worry.</p><p>“You should visit Mrs. Clarke about that cough.”</p><p>“I will. When I find the time…”</p><p>After a little consideration, Elizabeth raised to her feet and went inside, returning a moment later with a jug and a cup. Sitting on the ground beside her mother, she watched her swallowing the water as if she had just come from the desert.</p><p>Mary thanked her and took the jug from Elizabeth’s hand to pour herself more water.</p><p>“I have one last question, if you don’t mind…” she said softly, a blush tinting her cheeks. “How does one know the feeling is actually love? What if my mind mistakes everything? I have only known the love I feel for you… and Briar and Mrs. Daly… I do not want to misinterpret if it happens –”</p><p><em>“When</em> it happens,” Mary corrected her with a smile. “Love is not something easily described, though so many poets have tried… But you will know, trust me. The warm feeling inside… and the butterflies in your stomach… It shall not be mistaken by admiration or friendship. This person’s company, you will crave it like the air you breathe and, if you are fortunate enough, he will yearn yours as well…”</p><p>Mary closed her eyes for an instant, almost feeling the same fluttering in her heart just remembering those days of stolen kisses and longing. Then, her eyes reopened, and she concluded, “Some people acknowledge it very rapid…”</p><p>“Like father?”</p><p>“Exactly like your father. To others it can take time…” she replied and looked at her daughter fondly, enjoying the opportunity to revisit those memories. After so many years, speaking about the matter doesn’t feel like tearing open an old wound anymore. Actually, if she could, she would speak more often about it, afraid of forgetting everything with time. She still remembers his scent, but his voice – is it his or is it someone else the one she hears in her dreams?</p><p>“Though, I advise you to resist first impressions, they tend to be deceiving. Trust your instincts and search for honesty. Excessive flattery can be misleading…” With a smile, the woman proceeded listing advices and desirable qualities to search in a partner.</p><p>Raising her fingers, Elizabeth started speaking and counting, “In conclusion, I should trust my instincts, avoid flatterers, remember my social rank does not define me, love <em>is</em> a desirable thing and… And something about first impressions, possibly?” Failing to keep a straight face, she raised her shoulders and hands, holding her palms facing the sky. “Were violent passions good or bad?”</p><p>“Aren’t you impossible, daughter of mine?”</p><p>Bursting into laughter, Elizabeth asked, “How shall I remember all of that, mama? I fear I should have a paper and quill at hand to write the entire thing down!”</p><p>“You may always ask me, silly,” Mary replied, and they beamed fondly at each other. “Since I trust my recommendations are far better than any other you have read on those books.”</p><p>“Perhaps you should write your own book advising young and confused women searching for love and marriage…” Elizabeth suggested, and Mary snorted with laughter.</p><p>“Perhaps I will do just that. When I find the time.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Edgewater – March, 1816</b>
</p><p>Elizabeth’s eyes were still marvelling at every little detail at the luxurious manor that welcomed her the previous day, from the furniture to the tall floral arrangements that invited spring inside, to the polite company and their fine dresses. Her ears could certainly get used to the music that Ms. Parsons’ long and skilled fingers create while pressing each ivory and ebony key.</p><p>If only she had the same skills… She would adore to let her fingers glide on the keyboard, producing sweet melody as well. However, a seamstress’ daughter is not taught how to play the pianoforte. Perhaps, an Earl daughter might have the chance.</p><p>Exhibiting her natural talent, Elizabeth sings the verses effortlessly and in perfect harmony with the woman playing. For the first time since her arrival, she feels like herself again. Memories from singing so many times with her mother along the years flood her mind, and she blinks away the emotions from her eyes and read the lyrics from the partiture.</p><p>Sitting by the pianoforte, Ms. Parson flashes a sincere smile, when they finish and their performance earns applauses and praises, especially Elizabeth’s voice, which have marvelled the trio of young women.</p><p>The only one who doesn’t seem content is the Countess, whose disgusted expression is not kept in secret.</p><p>Per usual, from her tongue fly unkind remarks like wasps.</p><p>Elizabeth cannot prevent her ears from listening to her words, however she can and must succeed in training her own tongue to not speak harshly or out of time. The words she wishes to say are kept on her mind for now, and she does not respond the offenses.</p><p>From across the room, she casts a glance at the older woman, and contemplates if the pain of losing a loved son might have turned her into the spiteful creature who cannot tolerate her presence there, even if it brings joy to her father.</p><p>
  <em>How can she be so cruel with me, knowing so well the unbearable pain of mourning someone we love?</em>
</p><p>When the pleasant conversation with Ms. Parsons is interrupted by the Countess, who urges her stepdaughter to return to the embroidery, in order to perfectionate the craft, she sighs at her companion and with resignation returns to the same place at the settee. Sitting beside the spot where the needle work was left moments ago.</p><p>Smoothing the skirts of the dress, fine fabric unlike anything she has laid eyes on, she catches bits of Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman’s conversation, their needlework forgotten on their respective laps. </p><p>The Countess did not conceal her annoyance at the exchange and the sound of her future daughter-in-law, stabbing the fabric harder than necessary. </p><p>“…and then I saw Mr. Sinclaire here at Edgewater yesterday!” Ms. Sutton concluded and her nasal voice ringed in the drawing room. </p><p>“Again?” the other woman gasped.</p><p>Inadvertently, Elizabeth disclosed about being introduced to the gentleman by her grandmother and having him escort her in a tour of the gardens.</p><p>“How was it, Lady Elizabeth?”</p><p>“What were your impressions of him?”</p><p>“Tell us everything!” Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman spoke at the same time, staring at her expectantly.</p><p>Elizabeth chewed over their questions for a while and on her lower lip. </p><p>
  <em>What were my first impressions?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elizabeth was presented to her first and most enduring love in an old house, twelve years before her feet meandered through the gardens of Edgewater. / After her mother fell ill, Elizabeth and Briar talk about life and love while enjoying a day of rest at Grovershire. / Years later, Mary’s words come back to Elizabeth, when she ponders if first impressions are truly deceiving.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The scene with Mr. Sinclaire takes place at Chapter 3, and I reproduced part of the original dialogues.<br/>* Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OCs;<br/>* English is not my first language.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Edgewater – March, 1816 </b>
</p><p>Holding her nose up, Elizabeth closed her eyes and let the delightful fragrance of the flowers in bloom fill her lungs.</p><p>Painted with uncountable blossoms, some of which she could not name nor recognize, and paths surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges and statues, the gardens at Edgewater were extraordinary.</p><p>However, not all the beauty around could soothe the young woman, whose mind was racing, anxiety running through her veins in the imminence of meeting her father. What if he was no longer the man her mother met at her youth? Twenty years are long enough for life to mould the soul into something else…</p><p>Every distraction is welcomed, and more importantly, she could learn more about him previously to their encounter.</p><p>After a long ride from Grovershire, stretching her legs at this magnificent place, even if not by choice, seemed somewhat perfect.</p><p>Though, the same could not be said about the company.</p><p>If not for the sounds of their footsteps on the stony path and the chirping of birds, there would only be a sepulchral silence hanging between them. An unbearable silence.</p><p><em>Shouldn’t we engage in conversation? </em>she ponders, <em>It seems rude to ignore me, even if I’m merely the Earl’s natural daughter as Mr. Sinclaire promptly remarked. Certainly, against his will, he obliged to Dowager Countess Dominique’s request. At least, his gentlemanly manners even if cold are respectful this far…<br/>
</em></p><p>Not an improper word came from his mouth, despite being completely alone with her. Unlike some previous experiences.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Grovershire – February, 1804.</b>
</p><p>The first time Elizabeth went to the Dunnes’ stately home at the road to Moorfield, she was mesmerized by its size and froze in place.</p><p>For an instant, her green eyes studied everything from the bottom of the stair to the top of the roof covered in white. The tall façade of the two-store construction had a lasting impression on her and it’d take twelve years for Elizabeth to realize the world was so much greater outside Grovershire, and that house was far from being the palace that frequented her infant’s imagination. An estate less than a day of travel away would reveal a completely different world of unimaginable wealth, grandness and as much intrigue as some of the novels she was presented by the Dunne’s dusty library.</p><p>Mary’s soft voice called her name, her gloved hand enveloping hers, and they crossed the remaining distance. The fresh snow crunching beneath their boots.</p><p>On that winter morning, mother and daughter were ushered inside through the front doors. Her mother brushed flocks of snow from the little girl’s tresses while Elizabeth’s eyes raked around taking everything in, while they followed a man with a commanding voice.</p><p>The infant’s small legs struggled to keep up with her mother’s pace until they finally reached the bottom of a spiralling wooden staircase. A pleasant feminine voice caught her attention, and her eyes were drawn to the top, where stood a woman with dark blonde hair styled in an intricate updo and a dress unlike any other paraded at the town square.</p><p>The women’s rosy cheeks rounded when she spotted the seamstress. Waving her hands, she invited them upstairs, and mother and daughter followed the woman down a long corridor and past some doors. One door in particular, slightly opened, caught Elizabeth’s attention.</p><p>The glimpse of a room covered in wood and shelves filled with books glued her to the floor. At home, they possess two books, an old Bible Mary uses to teach her how to read, and <em>Moll Flanders</em>, which was deemed unsuitable for a girl her age – though her curious eyes have already explored the pages without her mother’s knowledge.</p><p>Suddenly, realizing the quietness at the corridor, she sprinted to catch up to her mother, waiting at the end of the corridor with her basket filled with sewing instruments.</p><p>For the next hours, sitting on a small wooden bench, Elizabeth observed Mary take the measures of Mrs. Georgiana Dunne, be presented to rich colourful fabrics from Moorfield and London, to drawings of French dresses on magazines and to each one of the woman’s desires.  </p><p>“It’s my first Season in years… Now that the boys are growing…” the woman explained with a wistful smile and Mary nodded with understanding.</p><p>The next days, Mary worked incessantly on the dresses for Mrs. Dunne, and whenever they went to the house, the young girl craved to have a moment at that room. Dusty books calling for her. Gates to magnificent worlds and formidable characters just waiting to be opened.</p><p>One afternoon when the mistress of the house entertained guests at tea-time, and her mother absentmindedly sew the hemline of a dress, singing an old-time favourite, Elizabeth tiptoed her way out of the room. Aware that any day now could be their last spent at that home, the girl took a leap of faith and sneaked into the library.</p><p>A victorious grin curled her lips once she cracked the door and walked inside unseen.</p><p>Moving alongside the shelves, her little fingers grazed each book, while her tongue pronounced the titles and names imprinted on the spines.</p><p>A last look over her shoulder and she took one from the shelf. Fingertip grazing the leather and the sulks of each letter engraved on the cover.</p><p>“<em>The Canterbury Tales</em> from –” she paused and failed to pronounce the author’s name.</p><p>“Geoffrey Chaucer,” a feminine voice spoke behind her. “A rather unexpected choice of book.”</p><p>Peeking over her shoulder, Elizabeth glimpsed the silhouette of Mrs. Dunne on the doorway, and she froze in place. Eyes fixed on the evidence of her crime, she waited to be chastised.</p><p>The tapping of the shoes resonated and grew closer, and the girl’s heart thumped faster and louder.</p><p>“However, I suppose we can find one that is better suited for a curious little girl as yourself,” said the woman gently taking the book from her hands and brushing past her. “Let me see…”</p><p>Elizabeth’s eyes raised from her feet and she peeked at Mrs. Dunne. Her finger was touching the spines while she looked at each book carefully. A satisfied smile when she pulled a green covered one.</p><p>“Are you familiar with the tales of Charles Perrault?”</p><p>The girl shook her head, averting the woman’s gaze.</p><p>“Then you should read this one.” The book and a warm smile were offered to her. “I believe you shall enjoy it. My boys used to love <em>The Little Red Riding Hood</em>.”</p><p>Rooted to the ground, Elizabeth stared with amazement at the treasured item on her hands, while the woman turned around and hummed.</p><p>“Where is that Botanic treaty? Oh! Here it is!” she wielded the tome like a trophy and ushered the girl outside. “Now, go on, before your mother starts worrying about you.”</p><p>Elizabeth could not believe her fortune! Not only her behaviour went unpunished, but the woman lent her a book. An unconcealable wide grin while returning to the room where her mother was working.</p><p>That afternoon, sitting on that small bench, she read the first pages. She still didn’t know this one would become her favourite book, nor that only on her third time reading many years later she’d understand what Perrault meant by luring tongues and experience first-hand the dangers of wolves who try to take advantage of unchaperoned young ladies.</p><p>Over the years, many other tomes followed this first one. With a gentle smile, Mrs. Dunne offered to lend her as many as she’d like, as long as she promised to share her opinions later. When Mary fell ill on the fall of 1811, Elizabeth took most of her mother’s chores, and she was allowed to spend some moments at the library whenever she went to the Dunnes to pick up the clothes for mending and washing.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Grovershire – July, 1812.</b>
</p><p>Just a word from the smiling lady and up the stairs Elizabeth went.</p><p>A familiar path to a familiar room.</p><p>Soon, she stood in front of the heavy wooden door with its carved panels and delicate engravings. The brass doorknob shaded by the years felt cold against her hand when she encircled it.  </p><p>With a creak the old door opened to a room bathed in the late morning sunlight, which streamed from large windows and dust danced in the air. The woody and faint musty scents reached her nostrils and, instead of frowning as some would, Elizabeth smiled. The air was filled with the passage of time, but she could also recognize the smoke from old battles and dragons’ flames; the floral scent of gardens from distant and exotic lands and the rosewater exuded by the princess’ hair. This was one of her favourite places, where for a few moments she could have a glimpse of a thousand different lives and experience realities other than the one of a poor seamstress’ daughter from a tiny English village.</p><p>Numerous rows of books neatly arranged on the bookshelves that covered two of the room’s walls: maroon, ochre and green spines facing outward. Gateways to fantasy worlds that reserve adventures, love, and romance, as well as tragedy and intrigue – and does she love the intrigue!</p><p>The quietness of the library only disturbed by the click-clack of the boot’s heels when Elizabeth moved towards the shelves, eager to reach for the next portal.</p><p>There were so many books, but she could not help it but returning to her favourites.</p><p>On one hand, she could reread <em>Gulliver’s Travels</em>, on the other, she could choose the Greek tragedy Mrs. Dunne recommended. The latter was taken from the shelf, and she opened at a random page and skimmed it.</p><p>
  <em>When I am tossed to such an height of dark foreboding, woman, when my mind / Faceth such straits as these, where should I find a mightier love than thine?¹</em>
</p><p><em>What does that even mean? </em>she wondered and continue reading the next verses.</p><p>“Do you even know how to read?”</p><p>The masculine voice startled her, disrupting the reading.</p><p>Too absorbed by the difficult choice, she failed to notice his steps or, perhaps, furtive as a cat, he intentionally muffled the tapping of his soles on the hardwood floor. Either way, his presence was unwanted.</p><p>Turning around, she faced Mrs. Dunne’s youngest son. The face peppered with freckles much closer than anticipated. Red hair tousled and spiked as a burning fire on the top of his head. Despite his cheeks conserving a childish roundness, Sean Dunne was no longer a child. The fifteen-year-old has outgrown her since she saw him last around Christmas time.</p><p>Elizabeth is acquainted with the Dunnes boys for years, and even though Sean was not particularly unattractive, he certainly was not as handsome as his older brothers, especially Francis with his perfect styled locks. Though, the young girl considers, the most unpleasant features are not his thin lips or the narrow chest, but his tongue always ready to spit out cruelty.</p><p>“Why you ask?” Elizabeth retorted with another question, unable to conceal the annoyance inspired by his presence, and lowered her eyes, as expected. On the floor, the muddy imprints from his brown dirty boots marked his path all the way from the door.</p><p>“People like you usually don’t.”</p><p>She raised her chin and contemplated the contemptuous smirk on his lips.</p><p>“People like me?”</p><p>“Poor.”</p><p>“Oh, I see. Since I am poor, I must be illiterate?” she questioned, eyes blazing with indignation.</p><p>His head bobbed and she took a deep breath. After so many visits to this library, it seems almost impossible that he still assumes she cannot read. Was he trying to irritate her and chase her away from this place?</p><p>Ignoring his presence, her eyes returned to the book.</p><p>“So, can you?”</p><p>Without raising her eyes from the book, Elizabeth asked, “You assume every single person is exactly the same according to their origin?”</p><p>“Those assumptions never failed me before.”</p><p>“This is prejudice.”</p><p>“It certainly is not if it is sustained by facts.”</p><p>An unfamiliar urge to punch him boiling inside her narrowed her green eyes, but Elizabeth took a deep breath, reminding herself where she was.</p><p>“You haven’t answered my question,” he insisted. “It’s very rude to not do so.”</p><p>Tilting her chin up, her eyes abandoned the verses and she pronounced with purpose her next words, “People say gingers are untrustworthy and just a glimpse of one could bring bad luck… You’re a ginger. Should I assume my day shall be ruined now?”</p><p><em>Superstition or not, you already spoiled my day, </em>she thought but kept that opinion to herself.</p><p>Sean grimaced. Growing up as the only redhead amongst his four brothers and one of the few in the village provided his share of hurtful words over the years.</p><p>“This is not… Those are superstitions from provincial minds!” he snapped but didn’t storm out in an unexpected turn of events.</p><p>They fell silent, and she closed the book, considering if she should leave. Meanwhile his hazel eyes took her in, lingering on the small mounds that have grown three summers ago. The tip of his index finger touched the cover of the book and he glanced at the title.</p><p>“Perhaps you should sit over there and read for me. To prove my assumption is wrong.”</p><p>“Why would I be willing to prove anything to you, Mr. Dunne?” Her question answered with a snorted laugh, and he inched closer. The urge to flee grew inside her, and she clutched at the book, nails digging into the leather.</p><p>At all costs, Elizabeth avoids being alone with members of the opposite sex, just like her mother warned her. Life’s already too hard as it is, and she’s seen more than thrice what happens with girls like her who trusted the vain promises of lads, especially the ones with riches. Once their desires are satisfied, the girls are left with their crosses to bear, carrying the symbol of their sins on their arms and all the judgement upon their shoulders.</p><p>His arm raised, and his hand darted upwards, close to her head and she flinched.</p><p>Pulling a book from the shelf, he smiled to himself. “I saw you at Wincrest Stream yesterday,” he said skimming at a random page, although his eyes kept coming back to her face and cleavage. “You weren’t bathing with the others.”</p><p>“I didn’t feel like it.”</p><p>Three years ago, Elizabeth stopped bathing there, warned by her mother about the boys spying on her, even though she loved to submerge in its cold crystal-clear waters during summertime.</p><p>“Can’t you swim?”</p><p>“Why are you suddenly interested in what I can or cannot do?”</p><p>“Shouldn’t you just be pleased someone like yourself picked the interest of someone like myself?”</p><p>“That depends on the reasons,” she retorted, her mind filled with memories of all the vicious names he called Briar and herself over the years, and their happiness when he joined his brothers at the military academy, spending months away from the village.</p><p>The young man stepped forward and his fingers touched the skin of her arm.</p><p>She backed away and glared. “Do not touch me again,” she hissed, clutched the book tight to her chest, and rapidly walked out of the room.</p><p>“Why are you leaving?” he cried, and she heard his laughter while her feet took her running down the stairs, heartbeat accelerating with each step. She shall not stand and wait for misfortune to catch up to her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>A few days later</em>
  </b>
</p><p>Huffing, Elizabeth paced faster and faster. Her brown dirty boots stomped and squashed the tall grass, while taking her further away from Wincrest Stream. Both hands tight around the maroon covered book, pressing it against her chest.</p><p>Crossing the field peppered with yellow buttercup flowers, Briar, with the hem of her dress pulled up, was almost running to catch up with her.</p><p>“You shall never marry if you don’t allow anyone to come closer to you, Lizzy,” Briar’s nasal voice ringed behind her and caused her to stop.</p><p>Similar statements left her friend’s tongue before. Marriage is a subject whose relevance grows with each passing year and becomes a life-changing decision for girls like them. A chance to remedy their unfortunate birth, as some say; quickly followed by the advice to take advantage of their good-looks and youth, while they can.</p><p>“Tell me, if you may, one – just one – name of a young man amongst those that is in fact looking for a wife here.”</p><p>The inquiry knitted together the other’s black brows, and the brunette pursed her lips in contemplation of an answer.</p><p>“Alright,” she finally admitted, “perhaps none of those are.” A grin, however, parted Briar’s lips when she looked over her shoulders and added, “But they are quite handsome blokes. You must admit it. And haven’t you noticed? Sean Dunne has taken a liking to you.”</p><p>Elizabeth snorted at the name, and Briar’s eyebrows and hands raised at her. </p><p>“What is wrong with him? He is no longer that spoiled brat.”</p><p>“He’s the same, Briar. Just taller.”</p><p>“He seems different… Of course, he is not as handsome as his brother Francis…” she teased.</p><p>Elizabeth’s cheeks painted itself in a darker shade of red, stumbling on the words to refute the insinuation.</p><p>“Alright,” Briar acquiesced, with a smirk. “But Sean is a fine lad from a good family, living in that palace, and whose mother likes you and enjoys your company.”</p><p>“It is clear there’s only one thing he wants from me,” Elizabeth said, and they shared a knowing look, both aware of Mary’s warnings about the ruses those lads use to seduce poor lasses like the pair.</p><p>Briar pursed her lips, and uphill they meandered the path surrounded by tall asters, whose yellow centres were visited by buzzing bees.</p><p>Skin still cold from the stream’s water, Briar’s arm encircled her friends’ and she hummed a familiar tune. Elizabeth couldn’t help but join her. Soon they were singing at the top of their lungs.</p><p>When they finally reached the top, Briar sighed and casted a wistful glance behind. “Sean’s friend was tall and handsome… Have you seen his hair? So dark and shiny!”</p><p>Looking her squarely in the eye, Elizabeth frowned but didn’t say a word.</p><p>“I know the reason lads from good families like those come after girls like us… but… sometimes I wish this one could be different…”</p><p>“I know,” Elizabeth sighed, and lowered her gaze and her hands. Pulling the hem of her dress up, mimicking her friend, they both jumped a fence and reached the orchard.</p><p>Elizabeth sat down beneath a tree, resting her back against the trunk, and opened the book, while Briar leaned against another tree.</p><p>“What are you reading?”</p><p>“A Greek tragedy. Would you care if I read it to you?”</p><p>“Oh! A tragedy? Never! Life is already too tragic!” Briar snickered at her own banter. “But you can carry on… I mean, if that is how you want to enjoy your day of rest.”</p><p>“Just a bit,” she replied softly, “We have plenty of time before sunset.”</p><p>In silence, they both occupied themselves. Elizabeth’s attention returned to the book, and Briar combed her long damp hair with her fingers, before taking a seat beside her friend. Braiding her own hair, she peeked at the pages.</p><p>“You are lovely and intelligent,” Briar started, speaking softly, and her friend stopped reading and looked at her. “A rich lad like Sean Dunne or any other being enamoured with you… it is not an impossible thing to happen, Lizzy. And if you married, nobody would mistake you for the maid.”</p><p>“Oh, Briar! Empty pockets make us equals…” Elizabeth tried to remedy the unhappiness glistening her friend’s eyes, even though this statement was untrue. Poverty was something both the Thompsons and the Dalys had in common. For years, however, Elizabeth was aware of the unjust society they both lived in and how the Daly’s dark skin and heritage was frown upon by many of the townsfolks.</p><p>Shrugging her concern, the brunette assured she was fine.  </p><p>“You are beautiful, my friend. Next year you shall be crowned the Harvest Queen. You shall see it!” Elizabeth said softly and the other beamed. Amusement lighting her face.</p><p>“Even if I don’t, at least I will beat you in every game!”</p><p>Sticking her tongue out, Elizabeth replied the teasing, “You wish!”</p><p>They took turns bragging about their abilities in each game and they laughed together. Even though, with her mother’s illness, Elizabeth barely had time to play games anymore and if not for Mrs. Daly being at the cottage with her mother, she would not be outside enjoying the sunny day.</p><p>“I missed this…” Elizabeth said softly, leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder, and Briar glanced at her, and in a low tone assured her mother would get better soon.</p><p>After a few moments, Elizabeth shook her head and wiped a tear streaming down her face. Standing up and raising one arm, she suggested they should weave their own flower crowns and proclaim themselves the queens of those meadows. Reigning over bees and foxes.</p><p>Briar grinned and teased her friend’s silliness, but soon they were both plucking twigs and wildflowers. While their hands worked, their tongues chatted.</p><p>Contemplating her friend’s face for a moment, tip of the tongue sticking out in concentration, Briar mused, “If we’re queens, there is an issue that must be addressed immediately, Your Majesty.” When the other’s gaze raised, a confirmation she was paying attention, she continued, “Who shall be our kings?”</p><p>Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “Don’t you ever stop thinking about romance?”</p><p>“Never,” Briar laughed, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “And I cannot believe you do not think about it too! With all those novels you read and the sparkles in your eyes…”</p><p>“I have no time for that,” she snorted.</p><p>“Nonsense! There is always time for love!” Briar nudged her side. “Unless you are waiting for a dashing prince like the ones from the faire-tales to come to Grovershire and whisk you away to live at his palace?”</p><p>“That’s a preposterous idea! Why would a prince even come here in the first place?”</p><p>“Obviously because of you, Lizzy!” Briar said with a playful smile and placed the flower crown on the top of her head. “But we might have to start a rumour that you are a princess, trapped by a witch in a tower with an enormous treasure, chests filled with gold and jewels… Waiting for your saviour. And a kiss!”</p><p>“Who would even believe that?”</p><p>“Men! They are silly and would take any opportunity to rescue a damsel in distress. You shall see.”</p><p>“You’re the silly one…” Elizabeth shook her head.</p><p>Smiling mischievously, Briar jumped to her feet and pulled her friend up. Kneeling, the brunette clasped the other’s hands and dramatically declared undying love, shouting to the wind, while the other tried to shush her. Unable to keep a serious face, the laugh leaked from Elizabeth’s lips and the infectious sound was accompanied by her friend’s chortles. Their expressions of joy echoing in the fields like birdsongs.</p><p>Hand over her stomach, Briar doubled over with laughter; and Elizabeth touched her shoulder, gasping for air.</p><p>When the giggles subsided, Elizabeth wiped the tears streaming down her face, and sat down. Looking at her, Briar asked softly, “Aren’t you afraid of growing into an old maid?”</p><p>“I can think of worst things to happen to me,” Elizabeth shrugged.</p><p>“I myself consider this to be a tragedy!”</p><p>Briar spun with arms wide open, skirts swirling and head falling back. The sight brought a smile to Elizabeth’s face.</p><p>“I desire to fall in love with a handsome man!” she recited hugging herself, with a coquettish smile, “A man with gentle manners and strong arms! One who would kiss me until I lose my breath.”</p><p>Elizabeth gasped.</p><p>“Don’t give me that scandalized look, Lizzy!” the brunette said, winking at her. “You’ve read so many novels, you don’t expect me to believe you don’t think about it too!”</p><p>Elizabeth’s cheeks tinted herself redder, however a smile curled her lips and her friend approached.</p><p>“I long to feel the kind of love I read in books someday,” Elizabeth confessed, chin propped in one hand.</p><p>“I knew it!” Briar pointed at her, a victorious grin on her lips. “Thus, you do think about getting married one day!”</p><p>“Perhaps… Now I don’t have the time nor am willing to worry about that. Mama requires my assistance, and I must work and support both of us… Besides if I ever do marry, it shall be on my terms.”</p><p>“Certainly!”</p><p>“…With a kind man whose eyes are gentle and with whom I can talk and –”</p><p>“What about his looks?” Briar interrupted. “He must be handsome!”</p><p>“Not necessarily!”</p><p>“Will you be willing to kiss a toothless mouth?” Briar made a face. “Or give birth to his ugly children?”</p><p>“I admit it, a hardworking man easy on the eye would be better… But the most important is that our home is filled with joy and he shall be my best friend.”</p><p>“And rich!”</p><p>“He does not have to be rich…”</p><p>“A man with a fortune could take care of you and your mother. Life would be much easier,” Briar rakes the callous on her own hands and looks at her friend. “You wouldn’t have to work this much. You could eat all the sweets you wanted!”</p><p>“That’s more appealing to you!” Elizabeth giggled, while the other continued to enumerate what money could provide, “… And wear the most beautiful dresses with the finest fabrics from Mrs. O’Malley’s shop. And even from London! Read! Travel!”</p><p>“It all sounds marvellous, indeed. But without a dowry, that is an impossible dream…”</p><p>“Dreams come true at times. All you need is a fairy godmother.”</p><p>Grinning, Elizabeth asked, “Are you volunteering?”</p><p>“Who knows…”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Edgewater – March, 1816</em>
  </b>
</p><p>Sighing, Elizabeth’s free hand twitched once again with the wide brim of the fancy bonnet that complimented her new dress. At the same time, the elegant item protects her face from sunlight – though that never concerned a girl used to run free at the fields outside Grovershire regardless of the weather – and reduces her peripheral vision, making it impossible to cast a discreet sidelong glance.</p><p>
  <em>How does a lady engage in a conversation without seeing the face of the person besides? This is ridiculous!</em>
</p><p>Risking behaving improperly, she turned her head to have a clear view from the man’s serious face.</p><p>Judging by his expression, Edgewater just taught her first lesson: a request from the Dowager Countess is indeclinable. Not even this gentleman could refuse taking Elizabeth to stroll in a garden that is not his own.</p><p>When the pair looked at her expectantly, Elizabeth, who had just met her grandmother, could only ponder if denying this request would not only be considered rude but affect her relationship with the woman. Therefore, it seemed appropriate to just say yes, and that she did. Now they were strolling, her hand placed on the crook of the arm of a stranger who seemed utterly displeased by her company.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth tried to engage in a conversation with her companion, in order to get to know the man as her grandmother intended, yet all she received were curt responses to every one of her questions.</p><p>“You are a man of few words, Mr. Sinclaire.”</p><p>“I find idle conversation to be a waste of time,” the man replied, explaining why he would rather not spend his valuable time on remarks about the weather or gossip.</p><p>Raising her eyebrows, Elizabeth spoke again meeting his gaze, “Have you ever considered ‘idle conversation’ at least passes the time? I find it much more enjoyable than passing unwanted time together in silence.”</p><p>“Is that what this is? Undesirable conversation?” the man asked, his voice tinged by indignation.</p><p>“I would never say such a thing, sir!” Elizabeth replied, lowering her gaze and biting back a snicker, under the covering of her bonnet. “Perhaps <em>you </em>feel that way about the situation, since, <em>you’re </em>the one who called this <em>idle </em>conversation in the first place. I would hate to waste your time…”</p><p>“Hmph, you give your mind rather freely.”</p><p>“Mama taught me honesty is a virtue.”</p><p>“Is there not an opinion you would deign inappropriate to speak aloud?”</p><p>“Plenty,” she replied, considering every occasion she held her tongue and uttered the polite answer instead. “However, would it not be impolite to leave your question unanswered?”</p><p>Mr. Sinclaire stopped, casting a quizzical look. While he studied her, Elizabeth pursed her lips, fighting the urge to giggle at his reaction, and pondering if perhaps her teasing had gone too far.</p><p>“I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Miss Thompson.”</p><p>“Is that a bad thing?”</p><p>“I’ve not yet decided. You’re <em>clearly</em> different than the other women I have encountered at Edgewater.”</p><p>
  <em>Different. Is this a euphemism? </em>
</p><p>She averted his gaze and shook her head. Obviously, her low birth and lack of refinement could not be hidden beneath fine clothes. The words the Dowager Countess whispered to describe him – “eligible bachelor” and “wealthiest landowner around” – ringed in her mind and contrasted with the ones Mr. Sinclaire used to refer to herself: “the Earl’s natural daughter”. <em>That is how I will be known as, isn’t it? Always reminded of my status as an illegitimate daughter.</em></p><p>“Let me take a gander,” she said meeting his gaze, “I’m <em>different</em> because of my low birth.”</p><p>“Your background has nothing to do with it…”</p><p>“If that’s the case, you could have fooled me. That was one of the first things you remarked upon! And I cannot say I received the impression you were <em>pleased </em>to meet me, much less spend more time with.”</p><p>A scowl contorted Mr. Sinclaire’s face, and he returned his focus to the path ahead. Once more, silence fell upon their promenade.</p><p>Elizabeth pondered about the man beside her, and so far, her impressions about their previous hasty and ill-mannered meeting remained. Recognizing her as someone unworthy of his time and courtesy was probably the reason why Mr. Sinclaire would not stop and apologise after almost trampling her.</p><p>“Why ever did you agree with the dowager’s request in the first place?” Elizabeth dared ask, tired of his muteness, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You don’t seem all that fond of my company…”</p><p>His blue eyes met her stare. Then he sighed and his expression softened.</p><p>“Forgive me if it came across that way… but don’t presume to know my mind,” he said in a low voice.</p><p>Elizabeth nodded and decided to drop the subject at once, not wishing to taint her first visit to these magnificent gardens with this quarrel with Mr. Sinclaire. Why would she even mind his opinions about herself?</p><p>Walking past some bushes, Mr. Sinclaire lead the way and they found themselves before a lake. Sitting on the bench to admire the sight, Elizabeth couldn’t hold her contentment and for the first time, Mr. Sinclaire smiled, speaking about the times spent with his grandmother walking that same path and enjoying that same view.</p><p>A moment later, however, his expression changed once more. Reminiscing about the absent one, the smile was erased from his lips.</p><p>Elizabeth recognized something familiar. Before he looked away following a pair of ducks gliding on the quiet surface of the water, she spotted the pain in his eyes, and shared a story about her mother, and how she cherishes every memory.</p><p>“I suppose the absence of the ones we love shall persist…” she said quietly.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose it shall. The memories never fade completely. Nor the pain,” he lowered his voice and gaze to his hands, “I am sorry for your loss.”</p><p>She thanked him and they stared at the ducks quacking. </p><p>Suddenly, her mother’s words about first impressions returned to her mind, and she glanced at him. Perhaps, she had been too hasty in her judgement.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, she decided upon trying again. Perhaps, they both could use a friend. On their way back to the manor they talked about the gardens and his grandmother.</p><p>When they reached the imposing entrance, a shiver ran down Elizabeth’s spine.</p><p>“You know my father, do you not?” she asked, and he confirmed. “May I ask you which are your impressions of him?” Though her voice sounded steady, the wriggling hands betrayed her, and the man noticed it.</p><p>“The Earl, he is a good man,” he replied with a small smile, “and he is pleased with the idea of meeting you.”</p><p>A wide smile curled her lips, and she thanked him for his answer, and noticed a distinct glint in his blue eyes.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1. The extract Elizabeth reads is from Oedipus King of Thebes by Sophocles.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At Edgewater, Elizabeth discovered she’s not the only one passionate about books and libraries. / Sometimes, there’s more to a book than its cover… / Which surprises will the garden party in her honour reserve to Lady Elizabeth?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The third from this chapter scene takes place at Chapter 3.<br/>* Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC;<br/>* English is not my first language;<br/>* The series was inspired by an ask from my friend @princess-geek</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Edgewater - March, 1816</b>
</p>
<p>At the east wing was located the ancient home library, a spacious and bright room with tall finely engraved wooden bookcases that occupied the largest portion of its walls and antiquities that stirred Elizabeth’s curiosity. Large windows welcomed the sunlight, creating a perfect atmosphere. However, even when the sky dusked, the reader would not be discouraged. The young lady quickly learned lightning wasn’t an issue at the manor and there were candles to spare; even without ringing the bell, a diligent servant would carefully light some, chasing away the shadows, even if it was just for her.</p>
<p>Considering her passion for books, it wasn’t a surprise, that became her favourite place in the entire manor. When asked, Elizabeth would enumerate two reasons to explain why she would be found there so often – more would join these over the next few months and years to come, but she was yet to discover that.</p>
<p>The first one was obvious: the books.</p>
<p>The collection was impressive. Jaw-dropping impressive, if she was being honest. During their tour around the manor, the day after her arrival, the Dowager Countess admonished her for the unladylike expression while she stared gobsmacked at the shelves filled with more books than she could read in her lifetime. Certainly, a work of many generations. The entire library of the Dunnes could fit just in the portion dedicated to Poetry, she realised later that day.</p>
<p>The first weeks living at Edgewater were marked by several trips to the library, eager as she was to become familiar with it. Once or twice she might’ve neglected a pianoforte lesson or an engagement with one of the ladies who often visit the estate.</p>
<p>One afternoon, a quarter of hour late for the tea she intentionally skipped, the tapping of shoes disturbed the silence in the library. </p>
<p>Eyes wide, Elizabeth watched the Dowager Countess walk with resolute steps instead of Briar, who she expected would be returning with sweets and refreshments from the kitchen for the both of them.</p>
<p>With the characteristic firmness on her tone, she reminded the young woman the day had more pressing activities.</p>
<p>“I believe you want to make your father proud.”</p>
<p>“I want nothing more, lady grandmother, than making my father proud.”</p>
<p>Lady Dominique nodded with a satisfied smile and recommended the first hours of the day or perhaps bedtime for reading, while the rest of her hours would be dedicated to socialize and receive callers, and on lessons to turn her into an accomplished lady, improving her chances of flourishing amongst their peers.</p>
<p>Suddenly the greyish eyes of the elder woman lighted and she clasped her hands with enthusiasm looking her granddaughter closely.</p>
<p>“The daughter of the Viscount of Lochdale performs dramatic readings of poetry for the family and guests and it is delightful!” the lady said with a smile, and suggested, “Since you enjoy reading, perhaps you could do that as well! I am confident your melodic voice will marvel us all!”</p>
<p>Elizabeth agreed, and her grandmother squeezed her hands gently, looking pleased.</p>
<p>“What a magnificent tradition this shall be! I can envision you impressing our invitees in future gatherings,” she lowered her voice, even though they were alone, “and eligible bachelors.”</p>
<p>Lady Dominique asked what she was reading and retrieved the book from Elizabeth’s lap with a disapproving look. With a severe tone, the noblewoman lectured her on the dangerous absurdities of romance novels, and marched to the shelves retrieving a selection suitable for a virtuous young lady.</p>
<p>Handing Elizabeth a small poetry book, she commanded, “Here. Read this one tonight.” Then pointing at the stash over the large wooden table, which included a few poetry books, a collection of sermons and guides to life and marriage, she enlightened her granddaughter on the importance of educating herself and making sure Elizabeth’s mind was in the right place.</p>
<p>The young woman listened carefully, and nodded in a silent agreement.</p>
<p>Patting her hand, she concluded, “Once the news about your talents and beauty spread, my dear, we shall find you a suitable husband. You will see.”</p>
<p>The young woman’s eyes lowered, and she asked tentatively, “When the time comes, shall I have a saying in this matter, lady grandmother?”</p>
<p>The noblewoman assured her opinions would be considered in the process, earning a small smile.</p>
<p>Once the woman left, Elizabeth carefully examined the pile, reading the titles, skimming at random pages and turning her nose up at some passages. Though she took a few of the books to her room, the suggestions were disregarded in favour of more exciting readings. The discarded romance novel, for instance, which she also took back with her.</p>
<p>The second reason why the library captured Elizabeth’s heart was perhaps less obvious however easily explained.</p>
<p>Lord Vincent fell in love with that same library in his childhood. First his infant eyes perceived it as a wonderful and mysterious place to explore, where he’d seek shelter whenever his naughtiness caused excessive trouble, hiding from his caretakers and tutors in a game in which he was the only one pleased in the end. Little by little, however, the books called him. With every tome taken from the shelves, he felt more fascinated and that became his favourite place in the entire manor. With a wide smile, the nobleman confided these anecdotes to his daughter one morning when he found her browsing the shelves just like he used to.</p>
<p>From that day on, the library became their sanctuary. </p>
<p>They’d meet there some mornings, before the man started tending to the estate’s affairs, and occasionally would sneak away from the drawing room at the evenings to spend some moments alone and bond without having to endure the Countess’ obnoxious presence and vicious tongue.</p>
<p>With enthusiasm, her father presented his most treasured tomes, sharing stories about his acquisitions over the years to enrich the collection. Elizabeth offered her undivided attention, eyes mesmerized by extraordinary engravings of landscapes and a rare miniature bible.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Dunne would be impressed by those books,” she commented, examining golden letters on a maroon covered one. Intrigued, her father asked who this was, and Elizabeth told him about the kind woman from Grovershire who opened the library’s doors to her and fed her hunger for stories and knowledge over the years.</p>
<p>“When I leave for London, I shall buy some books to present Mrs. Dunne and show our gratitude,” the man suggested, and Elizabeth agreed.</p>
<p>The more Elizabeth felt comfortable around her father, the more she talked and shared details about her life at Grovershire. With the increasing confidence, her curiosity would also overflow in the form of endless questions about an assortment of subjects, not all of them related to their readings – the same way she used to do to her mother. The man patiently replied most of them, but occasionally diverted from a few, blaming the late hour or an urgent matter that requested his attention.</p>
<p>But it was undeniable, the enthusiasm of the young woman lighted the Earl’s eyes and warmed his heart. Some of her bold statements amused him, and more than once, marvelled by her, he declared with a large smile that Elizabeth inherited her mother’s wits.</p>
<p>One day, while he proudly exhibited the beautiful maps of his favourite Atlas, Elizabeth’s mind was brimming with dreams of adventures on faraway lands, the kind she used to share with Briar. Peeking at the man’s face, she mused, “I wish one day I could sail away and visit all these places…”</p>
<p>“It would be quite an adventurous life, my dear,” he said, beaming. “I beg of you, however, to remember your old father and come back someday to tell me the intrepid tales of the first lady of Edgewater to cross the seven seas.”</p>
<p>The unexpected reaction wrinkled the bridge of her nose and the corners of her eyes, the same way it did to his, and the sound of their merriment filled the silence of the room.</p>
<p>“Certainly, father!” she replied, pleased that he wouldn’t lecture her on the impropriety of her words, like lady grandmother certainly would. Feeling bolder, she grinned, and suggested, “Or perhaps, you shall come with me.”</p>
<p>His expression shifted to a sad impression of his former smile.</p>
<p>“If only I were as courageous as you, my darling…” he uttered.</p>
<p>Elizabeth suspected the sadness had nothing to do with the hypothetical adventures in discussion, but she held her tongue this once.</p>
<p>Not all their conversations were about books and impossible dreams; she adored when he shared any bit of information about his youth or her mother.</p>
<p>“I wish I could’ve seen her perform,” Elizabeth mused, chin resting on both hands.</p>
<p>“Mary was extraordinary!” he exclaimed, and leaned back in his chair, lost in his thoughts for a long moment. “My heart was hers the moment she started singing,” he said softly, a wistful look cast at the darkness outside. “It never wavered ever since.”</p>
<p>“Do you regret it, father?” she asked tentatively, and his eyes returned to her face. “Not going after mama, I mean?”</p>
<p>“Everyday.”</p>
<p>His statement tightened her chest. <em>What a dreadful fate to sacrifice love in favour of duty and wealth and status! </em>she thought and reached for his hand.</p>
<p>The Earl held it tight in his, affectionately kissed the back of her hand and quickly recomposed his expression before introducing a new subject.</p>
<p>“Have I told you the intriguing tales about the first Lord Vincent Foredale?”</p>
<p>“Not with the intriguing details…”</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Edgewater – April, 1816</b>
</p>
<p>Sitting on the settee, Lady Elizabeth was reading. Or trying to. Excitement overflowing with the proximity of the garden party – a party in her honour, nonetheless. Something unimaginable weeks before.</p>
<p>Two more days.</p>
<p>She cannot wait to meet Briar later that afternoon and hear about the preparations, which demanded the attention of most of the servants of the estate in an unprecedented agitation.</p>
<p>Wondering about every single aspect of it, her attention drifts from the romance novel in her hand to dresses, dances, guests and a particular pair of blue eyes who shall attend it.</p>
<p>When she reached the last paragraph, she couldn’t remember anything she’s just read.</p>
<p>Looking over her shoulder, contemplating the completely empty room, she removed her shoes and pulled her legs up, her socked feet rubbed against the green velvet and nested beneath her skirts. A kind of impropriety lady grandmother would scold her for; her father, however, would not mind at all, since he was the one who took the shoes off first on their last encounter, when they talked until only crickets were heard besides their voices.</p>
<p>Making herself comfortable, her gaze returned to the page. However, soon, the sounds from the corridor caught her attention.</p>
<p>A glance at the large clock, and she wondered if the Dowager Countess would have sent Briar or one of the maids to escort her to tea, even though the guests weren’t expected to arrive in another quarter of hour or so.</p>
<p>A sigh of resignation when the click-clack grew closer and the door opened. Bending over, she picked the shoes from the floor and was about to sit down and put them on, when she caught a glimpse of the man.</p>
<p>The sound of the shoes dropping to the floor startled both of them. The man halted wide-eyed.</p>
<p>“Mr. Sinclaire!” she squealed, and straightened herself and greeted him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush on her cheeks.</p>
<p>On his turn, he cleared his throat and replied the greeting with a courteous bow.</p>
<p>“Sorry, my lady,” he spoke, averting his gaze, “I was not aware anyone would be here. I was informed the Countess is receiving guests for tea… I beg your pardon for intruding.”</p>
<p>“Are you meeting my father here, sir?”</p>
<p>Wringing his hands, he lowered his gaze to the shoes lying on the ground, disturbed by the vision or perhaps by what it suggested, and looked back at her.</p>
<p>“Lord Vincent told me I could come… and retrieve a book. But I shall return later,” he spoke and turned on his heels. “Excuse me.”</p>
<p>“But why?” she asked with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You are already here.”</p>
<p>“Why?” he gasped and looked at her over his shoulder, a genuine confused expression. “You are unchaperoned, my lady!” he whispered, “This is utterly improper, as you must know.”</p>
<p>Raising her hand, she covered her smile and bit back a laugh. <em>How extraordinary! A man unwilling to take advantage of a moment alone with a woman!</em></p>
<p>“You are already here, sir,” her voice lilted with mirth, and his eyebrows raised. “Just go ahead and retrieve the book you came here for. Pretend I am not here. I shall return to my reading,” she said and returned to the settee, picking the romance novel up; however, her gaze didn’t waver from the man still rooted to the same spot, probably mulling over her words, eyes flicking from the shelves to the door behind him.</p>
<p>“I won’t tell a soul,” she insisted, and lowered her eyes to the page with a coquettish smile.</p>
<p>After a moment of hesitation, just as she hoped, he took a few large strides towards the shelves.</p>
<p>From the settee, Elizabeth studied him.</p>
<p>Mr. Sinclaire is one of Miss Sutton’s favourite subjects during sewing circles and is becoming one of hers as well. Whenever his name is mentioned, Elizabeth needs to fight her curiosity to not conduct herself in an impertinent manner, revealing her best kept secret.</p>
<p>The man is tall. Taller than her father. Always dresses impeccably like a fine gentleman must: the contrast between the navy-blue coat and the white of his cravat neatly knotted around his neck is remarkable and frames his features in a flattering way. His hair shines with the sunlight that inundates the room, a shade of brown that remind the glossy acorn shells. Although unlike the nuts, his locks seem soft and gently sway while he bent to inspect a lower shelf.</p>
<p>A man of unreproachable behaviour, her grandmother claims about him.</p>
<p>Easy on the eye, Briar said that day on the side of the road at Grovershire, and in other occasions ever since.</p>
<p>At first, Elizabeth could not agree with either of them, nor with Ms. Sutton or Ms. Bowman when the women praised him for his manners and looks.</p>
<p>Though her first impressions might’ve been inaccurate, Mr. Sinclaire remains an enigma. And perhaps, that’s the reason the gentleman picked her interest. When she looks at him, she sees an unread book. A mysterious one, which no one seems to know further than the refinement of its soft leather cover and the title in its impeccable gilded lettering.</p>
<p>This superficial knowledge might suffice to others, but not to Elizabeth. The young lady longs to learn what lies inside, the tales of happiness and sorrow.</p>
<p>However, since the gentleman avoids the gatherings of the ladies at Edgewater, staying away from their futile conversations and gossip – though she cannot really blame him for that; if she were given the choice, she’d do the same, tired as she is of being the target of too many criticism –, there opportunities to interact are practically non-existent.</p>
<p>Being the portrait of propriety, even if he does not seem utterly displeased by her company anymore, he refuses to spend a single minute alone with her.</p>
<p>Therefore, this is a rare occurrence, perhaps a perfect occasion to flit across a few pages.</p>
<p>Elizabeth peeks at him again, next to the shelves dedicated to poetry, and chews on her lower lip.</p>
<p>What would be a fitting topic to discuss with a man who detests idle conversation? In a furtive moment like this one cannot simply ask one’s opinion about the truly important matters, such as the belief in the immortality of the soul or the unjust burden over the shoulders of those who are not born to the kind of wealth the Foredales and Sinclaires are familiar with – she considers maybe this last topic should be avoided even in different circumstances.</p>
<p>Mrs. Dunne used to say that in the most mundane things, we can see glimpses of one’s soul. Even though Elizabeth would be satisfied with the knowledge of simple matters, like his preferred season or which is his favourite book, she must admit other relevant issues stir her curiosity, specially if there’s any particular lady’s company he enjoys presently and if he ever thinks about marriage.</p>
<p>His back turns, and she buries her nose on the book, considering what she should say or if she should say anything at all.  </p>
<p>Before she decided what to do, the man walks back, a red tome in his hand.</p>
<p>The coffee table and one armchair keep the respectable distance between the gentleman and the lady.</p>
<p>“I found the book, and now I should take my leave,” he says, a small satisfied smile curling his lips. “Once more I apologize for the disturbance.”</p>
<p>“Do my eyes deceit me or is that a poetry book I see, sir?”</p>
<p>His eyes narrow, whilst he probably tries to understand how she deducted it, before he confirmed.</p>
<p>“I did not take you for a man who would enjoy poetry…”</p>
<p>The corners of his lips twitched, and the smile faded. “You are far too hasty in make assumptions about my character.”</p>
<p>Elizabeth was certain the man would leave after her impertinent remark, but instead, he stayed. And she spoke again, before he changed his mind, “Perhaps this is just an attempt to better understand you, sir, and to give us the chance to start a conversation about a topic we both enjoy.”</p>
<p>“Do you enjoy poetry, my lady?”</p>
<p>“Do nursery rhymes count?”</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>“Then, the answer is no. I prefer when the stories are clear in their meanings instead of forcing me to make assumptions of what is being told or left unsaid by its writer,” she explained and didn’t fail to notice his glance at the book in her hand. “You do not approve my choice?”</p>
<p>“Would you by any chance be seeking mine or any other’s approval on the matter?”</p>
<p>“I suppose not,” she replied, and a slow smile curled the corners of their mouths.</p>
<p>“I assume you share a similar opinion with the Dowager Countess about those sorts of books…” she said, fidgeting with the book in her hand.</p>
<p>“I’m not familiar with her opinions.”</p>
<p>“She says romance novels corrupt young minds like mine,” she replied, mimicking her grandmother’s serious tone.</p>
<p>“That might be an exaggeration. Though I shall not dwell on their poor stylistic choices, I dislike them for the misconceptions about love and marriage they reinforce.”</p>
<p>“What kind of misconceptions?” she echoed his words.</p>
<p>“Sometimes life is less than extraordinary. Even if sacrifices are made, there’s no guarantee you shall be rewarded with happiness, or receive love in return,” he paused, and his eyes lowered, taken by an improbable interest in the book in his hand and his last words were barely above a whisper, “Love does not conquer it all, no matter how many of those stories tell otherwise.”</p>
<p>Elizabeth sighed. From what she was told about her parents’ forbidden love and from her own observations, Mr. Sinclaire’s words were not untrue.</p>
<p>“That is true, indeed. But is it so terrible to imagine that it could?” she questioned, and his eyes returned to her face. “That at times the sacrifices are not in vain? That perhaps there are a few things in this world like love that are worth risking it all: family, virtue, wealth?”</p>
<p>His expression softened, and his fisted hand covered his mouth for a moment and stifled a snort.</p>
<p>“It seems the Dowager Countess was correct in the end,” he uttered with a smirk, “and those books do corrupt young minds.”</p>
<p>Elizabeth didn’t hold her chuckle at the man’s banter – an extraordinary occurrence from what she’s been told – and he held her gaze for a moment, with a genuine smile.</p>
<p>“My opinions about the genre remain. Nonetheless, I shall ponder about your words. Have a good day, my lady.”</p>
<p>He bowed and took his leave.</p>
<p>Elizabeth was overwhelmed by giddiness, while she recalled every instant and words exchanged in her mind before realizing she was now late for tea.</p>
<p>“Fiddlesticks,” she muttered under her breath and put the shoes back on. “If not for my opinions, lady grandmother shall reproach me for my tardiness.” </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Edgewater - April, 1816</b>
</p>
<p>The day was extraordinary. The sky was cloudless and as blue as Mr. Sinclaire’s eyes. Sunrays reflected on the jewels causing the gemstones to sparkle on the necks and hairs of finely dressed women conversing around her. The scent of roses and ranunculi in bloom mixed with the aroma of the delicacies created by the cooks’ expert hands and displayed on refined silver trays. Gentlemen in elegant attires played party games, while others conversed about vital matters that furrowed their brows.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s hands smoothed the skirt of her dress. With this fine attire, headpiece and jewels, she looked anything like her old self. The newfound status as the unknown daughter of the Earl of Edgewater changed her life completely. In an instant, the orphaned girl from Grovershire had a father, a family and lived in a manor that made the Dunnes’ residence look like a humble chalet.</p>
<p>A whole wardrobe had been acquired specially for her; the finest dresses imaginable. Her hands explored the novelties and her fingers revelled on the coolness of silks and the delightful touch of velvet and other luxury fabrics. Elegant headpieces brought specially to this event arrived early this week and the sight of the case drew a high pitched squeal from Briar’s mouth. They tried various on their hairs and laughed before going to bed.</p>
<p>Amongst all the novelties, the gloves were possibly her favourite possessions, which appealed to her less for their obvious elegance and more for the prospect of masking the callous of her roughened palms and fingers. Hands used to work, that the past weeks of leisure were not enough to soften. Hands that resemble more the ones of the servants catering at the party, than the guests who come one after the other to greet her and offer insincere smiles and compliments.</p>
<p>Sometimes, she fears these past weeks are a dream and she shall wake up alone in the bed she shared with her mother at the cottage.</p>
<p>Her new status brings a different kind of unwanted attention, and her musing is interrupted by the inconvenient presence of the Duke of Karlington.</p>
<p>She avoided the man before, sneaking away with Miss Parsons, but this time, her moment of distraction would cost her long minutes of tedious conversation.</p>
<p>While the man bragged about the splendid gardens at Karlington; Lady Elizabeth nodded and smiled politely, though her ears did not pay attention to any of his words and her eyes searched for an escape.</p>
<p>Near the house, Briar waved at her then hurriedly disappeared back inside. Her eyes roamed some more and caught a glimpse of Miss Parsons next to Miss Sutton and Mr. Marlcaster, both playing skittles. Elizabeth excused herself, not waiting for his response.</p>
<p>Walking through the throng of guests, she cannot ignore the cruel insinuations spreading like wildfire hidden behind colourful and delicate fans. Eyes follow her everywhere, the heiress of Edgewater, and so do the murmurs after her father’s announcement.</p>
<p>“Bestow the estate to a bastard?” one masculine voice hisses, “What a lack of judgement.” </p>
<p>“A liar!” a woman susurrates, “Who knows whose daughter this is!”</p>
<p>Deceptive smiles, whenever her eyes meet theirs.</p>
<p><em>Stay strong. </em>Mary’s words and advice come back to her mind. <em>Don’t let them see you cry. </em>Elizabeth inhales deeply. <em>Do not let them think they broke you.</em> To survive in this world, she must get used to it, to all the cruel words whispered and judgemental stares. Though her eyes glisten with unshed tears, she does not cry; instead she lifts her chin and smiles.</p>
<p>A few more steps and she reaches the group, finding solace in Miss Parsons’ company. A kind soul and an exception amongst the ladies she’s been introduced. Merry giggles while they talk in hushed tones, avoiding prying ears. Mischief and humour in every sentence.</p>
<p>While the other shared excited plans for their stay at London, Elizabeth’s eyes found Mr. Sinclaire. A timid smile on her lips, once her mind was flooded by thoughts of them dancing together moments before.</p>
<p>The music was cheerful, and she was dazzled by the unexpected elegance of his movements. The touch of his hand on hers left a long-lasting impression. She could still feel the warmth and the light pressure of his long fingers around her gloved hand. The thought alone caused a flow of blood to tint her cheeks, the same way it happened when she crossed the fields at Grovershire running with the wind blowing her hair.</p>
<p>“Are you feeling ill?” Miss Parson asks, a worry crease between her eyebrows, while the other flutters the fan close to her face.</p>
<p>“It’s just the heat,” she shrugs the others’ concern mustering a reassuring smile, “I shall fetch a refreshment. Should I bring you one too?”</p>
<p>A moment later, Elizabeth marches towards Mr. Woods and picks two glasses from the tray he carries. Before she can make her way back to her friend, a lord in a green jacket with golden buttons blocks her path and leans too close. His presence causes her to freeze in place and a shiver ran down her spine. The breathed words fan the side of her face carrying a harsh scent of alcohol, however, this time instead of an indecorous proposal, the man complimented the elegance of her dress and suggested she called on his daughter at London, and nothing else.</p>
<p>Surprised, she thanked him for the suggestion. Acknowledging her words with a polite bow, he bid farewell and walked away.</p>
<p>A sigh of relieve escapes her mouth and she sips the beverage, considering how until now the whispered words into her ears were never accompanied by music or daylight.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is that how men treat women they consider worth of respect? Have Briar and I being born to this life and we would’ve been treated differently?</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Grovershire – May, 1813</b>
</p>
<p>Being born poor and beautiful could be as much of a blessing as a curse, Mary Thompson reminded her daughter from time to time.</p>
<p>Words impossible to chase away while she stood at the Miller’s kitchen that afternoon.</p>
<p>The basket with impeccable white muslin undergarments reposed on the large wooden table, while Mr. Miller inspected it and her.</p>
<p>Averting her gaze, Elizabeth fidget with her apron, waiting for the payment. The smell of the stew boiling on the stove made her stomach growl, reminding her the long hours since breakfast. The sun was already downing, casting long shadows in the room.</p>
<p>When he was done, the tapping of shoes on the stone floor resonated again, this time accompanied by the clinking of the coins.</p>
<p>Elizabeth’s tried to follow him with her eyes, while he circled her, praying this would not be the day that she’d learn about the curse.</p>
<p>“You are a fine young woman, little Eliza,” the man said at last, appraising her curves under the thin layers of her clothes. “Hardworking and responsible,” his voice was low and gentle.</p>
<p>The luring tongues of wolves usually are, she shall learn.</p>
<p>When he inched closer, she stiffened. Like one of the woodland creatures, the man sniffed her braided hair. The grip of her fingers tightened around the apron, fingernails digging holes on her palms, while her eyes searched for an escape.</p>
<p>Without a word, his hand clawed one of her wrists, gently pulling her arm and turning her palm up. Instead of depositing the coins, with a smile, he studied her hand for a moment. His large creamy white thumb grazed her rough-skinned palm, and she flinched.</p>
<p>“I can take care of you,” the man said in a concerned almost fatherly tone, “Your mother too. You’d never have to work or worry again.”</p>
<p>A proposition like that from a married man, she knew exactly what it meant and her stomach churned. The Millers know her since she was a child, and that makes his words even more disgusting. She mustered the strength to look up and pulled her hand at once, taking a step back.</p>
<p>“Thank you for your concern, sir. But I take care of my mother just fine,” she said with a steady voice, a courage summoned from an unfamiliar place on the deepest of her being. “I only need the money. For the clothes. So I can take my leave. Mama waits me.”</p>
<p>The pair of coins clinked and danced in front of her feet.</p>
<p>“You shall come around; girls like you always do. Have a nice day, little Eliza.”</p>
<p>The wolf tried to lure her other times. </p>
<p>This wolf and others.</p>
<p>But she never came around. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Edgewater – April, 1816.</b>
</p>
<p>“Would you care to dance, Lady Elizabeth?”</p>
<p>The voice that reaches her ears chases the memories away and bring her back to the present.</p>
<p>The man in front of her has hands as soft as the other, she knows it even without touching them. Hands unfamiliar to hard work.</p>
<p>There’s no honey in his voice either, on the contrary. Mr. Sinclaire’s tone is firm, but the words from his lips are unthreatening and courteous. Words that carry no deception.</p>
<p>She smiles and nods with enthusiasm, and he takes the glasses from her hands and return them to a tray on a table.</p>
<p>His unapproachable façade is broken by a slow smile, once she places her hand in his and let him guide her to where dancers expect the band to resume playing.</p>
<p>Today, for the first time since the tour of the gardens, they could spend moments by themselves. Even if so many eyes were upon them, the man was clearly more relaxed in her company now than when they were all alone at the library, a meeting he deemed inappropriate.  </p>
<p>Tilting her chin up, Elizabeth walks proudly and steals a few glances at him, determined to find out the truth behind his blue eyes. While he leads her to a new dance – the second one this afternoon – she considers what his intentions are with such a bold gesture.</p>
<p>His mouth is silent, but his actions speak too loud.</p>
<p>Impossible to ignore the many eyes following them and the whispers that erupted. </p>
<p>The commotion caused her father to cast a glance at their direction and flash the widest and most pleased smile of this entire day. It is not a secret he favours the country squire and would certainly vouch for this union. At this moment, Elizabeth would not mind if he did. Despite being unsure if the sensations that dominate her mind whenever he’s around are signs of love.</p>
<p>Her mother said she would know right away, but still she doesn’t. There are no flutter of butterflies or tingling feelings anywhere, however his attention pleases her.</p>
<p>Mr. Sinclaire is a handsome man. That’s not a secret. The fair skin, blue eyes, caramel locks styled fashionably, and broad shoulders caused an impression since their stroll around the gardens. The sight of the man riding his horse on his way to Edgewater reminded her of the princes from the tales she read, and as if reading her mind, Briar teased her: <em>“Could this be the prince you so long wait?”</em> At the time, Elizabeth mocked Briar about the absurdity of the idea, however, now, observing their joined hands, she ponders the same.</p>
<p>Could this be the man who would capture her heart? Or this would be the one to bring her pain and left her broken-hearted?</p>
<p>“You were reading by the lake yesterday,” he said softly, when he moved closer for the next step of the dance. “Did you enjoy the book?”</p>
<p>His words surprised her, and her heart skipped a beat and her feet almost did the same.</p>
<p>“How did I not see you?” The words left her lips with amusement, and she mockingly narrowed her eyes. “Were you spying on me, sir?”</p>
<p>“What a preposterous idea! I was certainly not spying on you. I was simply on my way to see your father –”</p>
<p>Her giggles interrupted him, and she asked, her voice carrying a smile and an impropriety her grandmother would certainly scold her for, “Why didn’t you come to talk to me if you were not in fact hidden behind a bush?”</p>
<p>Bowing his head to look her in the eye, he replied in the serious tone she’s used to.</p>
<p>“It’s rude to interrupt, even more so if the company arrives unannounced.”</p>
<p>“I would not have minded the interruption nor the company.”</p>
<p>The neckcloth tied in an elegant yet complicated fashion around the gentleman’s neck was not enough to disguise the way he swallowed hard at her words. Another coordinated step and they changed partners.</p>
<p>Elizabeth met her new partner, but her eyes followed Mr. Sinclaire distancing, and by the relieved look on his face when he took the hand of his next partner, he thanked the interruption.</p>
<p>The man admitted his distaste for the activity, yet, he was dancing with her a second time today. She bit her lip, and a thought brought a wide smile to Elizabeth’s lips.</p>
<p>
  <em>Could the brooding Mr. Sinclaire fancy me? </em>
</p>
<p>A moment later, her hand was enfolded by Mr. Sinclaire’s again, and his blue eyes, brighter than the sky fixed on her face. “You shall be joining the Season after all.”</p>
<p>“Yes! I’m positively thrilled with the idea! I’ve never been to London!” she replied, unable to contain her excitement. “What do you think about it all, Mr. Sinclaire? Any advices for a first timer?” she asked before he distanced himself to perform the required step.</p>
<p>His gaze unwavering from her face, as he inched closer, taking her hand for a twirl.</p>
<p>“London is a horrid city,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “And the Season, most of it is just a ludicrous waste of time in attempts to cause a good impression on people you’re not particularly fond of.”</p>
<p>“That’s a very strong opinion.”</p>
<p>“You asked for <em>my </em>opinion.”</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, without looking at him, she moves to his side for the next step and lets the words roam free, “Perhaps, you should focus your time on the ones you are fond of…”</p>
<p>Mr. Sinclaire chest heaves and falls with a sharp breath, but no word leaves his tongue.</p>
<p>With every note played by the band, she felt more connected with him. Their steps matching as if this was a long-practised performance.</p>
<p>Another step from the dance and they’re facing each other again. His head bows only a little, allowing him to contemplate her face closely.</p>
<p>They’re so close, probably the closest a man and a woman shall ever be allowed in public.</p>
<p>A demure lady should not look a man in the eye like that, but she can’t avert her gaze, despite the awareness of the many eyes upon them. Their eyes lock for that brief and intense moment, and his lips part as if he was about to say something but cannot find his voice. Her gaze focus on the curves of his mouth, and she wonders what it would feel like…</p>
<p>The unbecoming thought causes a rush of blood to flow to her cheeks.</p>
<p>Perhaps the man read her mind or his own mind was invaded by similar thoughts, because his pale skin darkened to a pink hue incompatible with the physical demand of this dance.</p>
<p>Their hands break from each other’s and they move to different partners. The dance lasts a few more minutes, and she wished to be in the gentleman’s company longer.</p>
<p>The blush on both their faces is evident when they complete the last step and the music comes to an end.</p>
<p>The man bows and whispers a half-compliment about her dancing skills.</p>
<p>Mr. Sinclaire isn’t a man of flattery, she knows it, thus his remark earns him a warm grin, nonetheless. And controlling her excitement, she manages to thank him and return the same level of praise on his skills.</p>
<p>“You are a very peculiar woman, Lady Elizabeth,” he mutters under his breath once she turns on her heels to leave.</p>
<p>A last glance at him over her shoulder and she hides a coquettish smile that wrinkles the corners of her eyes behind her fan.</p>
<p>Mr. Sinclaire stands still, unmistakeably observing her go.</p>
<p>A fit of unladylike giggles is also covered by her fan, when she crosses the last metres and links her arm with Miss Parsons’.</p>
<p>“Why are you laughing?” asked Miss Parsons, eyebrows raised with curiosity. “Mr. Sinclaire is not famous for his sense of humour.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps he saved all his jokes for me.”</p>
<p>“That sounds unlikely.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>The evening</b> </p>
<p>When the world painted itself black later that day, Briar removed the headpiece and the diamond pins from Elizabeth’s hair, undoing the intricate hairstyle, and started brushing the long brown locks with gentleness, like she always does.</p>
<p>Sitting on the bench in front of the mirror, tired of standing for so long and dancing, Elizabeth massaged her feet, and complained about blisters.</p>
<p>“Enough about your feet!” Briar mockingly pushed her friend’s shoulder with the brush, and she moaned and grimaced.</p>
<p>“That’s so rude!”</p>
<p>“See! A few weeks with the gentry and you’re getting soft!” she teased and giggled.  </p>
<p>“I never had to wear ridiculously tiny shoes like those!”</p>
<p>“Just tell me everything about the party already!” Briar demanded with a wide grin and flopped on the bed. “Spare no detail!”</p>
<p>Elizabeth sat beside her, legs crossed, and combed her long brown hair while retelling all that happened at the party.</p>
<p>“What was the Duke like? I saw you talking to him!” Briar asked eagerly, chin propped in both hands. “Mr. Harper said his was the biggest and fanciest of all the carriages!”</p>
<p>“No wonder! The Duke of Karlington is an obnoxious man with an ego bigger than his Duchy!” Elizabeth blurted out, and Briar covered her mouth but a loud laugh escaped.</p>
<p>“He’s nothing like lady grandmother described,” Elizabeth sighed.</p>
<p>Next, she told about the games and her father’s announcement and their depart to London in a few days, which Briar already knew.</p>
<p>“Tell me about the dances! I heard you danced with Mr. Sinclaire!”</p>
<p>Unconcerned with the teasing from her friend, she shared her impressions of the dances with Mr. Sinclaire, which were her favourite parts of the event, though she wouldn’t say it in so many words.</p>
<p>With a sly grin, Briar stated, “You’ve changed your mind about Mr. Sinclaire.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps…” Elizabeth lowered her gaze and smiled to herself. “We danced twice.”</p>
<p>“Oh! It seems he might’ve changed his mind as well.”</p>
<p>“It’s too early to tell…”</p>
<p>“Is it?” Briar giggled. “Didn’t you say when you meet the right one you both know it right away?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if he’s the one! Or if I’m the one…” Elizabeth muttered and met her friend’s gaze. “Though, I certainly hope so. Father is very fond of him. And Mr. Sinclaire is a respectful man.”</p>
<p>“I think he’s the one. You danced twice. It shall mean something. I can feel it! Can you imagine being Mrs. Sinclaire?”</p>
<p>Elizabeth felt heat creeping its way towards her cheeks and buried her face on her hands for a moment, and Briar squealed with excitement.</p>
<p>“It would be nice being called Mrs. Sinclaire,” Elizabeth replied after a moment of consideration, expressing a desire that crawled its way to her mind in the past few days.</p>
<p>“He shall propose soon! Maybe even before we leave for London!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that…” Elizabeth objected, worried that her wishes might be crushed by reality. She’d be mortified if she were mistaken, and the nature of her birth poses an obstacle. “I’m a natural daughter, and Mr. Sinclaire never discussed anything about courtship either with father or myself.”</p>
<p>Briar dismissed her concerns. “Love does not require these kinds of formalities.” Lowering her voice, she continues, “I’ve heard his house is bigger than Edgewater and as luxurious as a palace! I’ve told you Mr. Sinclaire is the prince you’ve been waiting all along to whisk you away!”</p>
<p>“I’ve never said I was waiting for a prince. You said that,” Elizabeth corrected, slapping her arm playfully. “I said my dream was a kind hardworking man.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Sinclaire might be both.” The brunette winked and raised both hands to release her raven hair from the bun. “Does it feel like you belong together? Like you read in the books?”</p>
<p>Elizabeth mulled for a moment, and Briar took the comb from her friend’s hand, brushing the strands now falling down her shoulders.</p>
<p>“Not quite,” she said softly at last and lowered her eyes. Reminiscing about her joined hands, she put a hand over her chest, feeling her heartbeat race. “But my heart accelerated when he held my hand.”</p>
<p>“Maybe that’s the sign!” Briar clapped her hands. “I knew it!”</p>
<p>That night, while her body rested, Elizabeth dreamt about marrying the country squire. </p>
<p>For the next days, this idea became more frequent, to the point she could envision Mr. Sinclaire standing at Edgewater’s chapel waiting for her. A hint of a smile on his lips while she walked down the aisle.</p>
<p>The idea warmed her heart until she left for London, determined to pursuit her happiness.</p>
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